


The Stranger

by riventhorn



Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-21
Updated: 2012-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-29 21:59:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/pseuds/riventhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt on the_eagle_kink: the Seal People do not have the Eagle and it takes a year for Esca to confirm this and come up with an excuse for them to leave only to discover once they are alone that Marcus had received some brain damage from the abuse he suffered from the seal people's hands and developed amnesia so that now life as Esca's slave is the only one he knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stranger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poziomeczka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poziomeczka/gifts).



> Disclaimer: no profit infringement intended; no profit is being made from this
> 
> Content Labels: some dub-con

The wind soughed through the grasses, rattling the door of the lodge. A frigid wind, spiting the wakening spring that was rousing itself from a winter’s slumber. Esca hunched closer to the smoky fire, thinking of the sunny meadows he had played in as a child. It seemed a lifetime ago. A remembered warmth whose existence scarce seemed possible in this northern land hard by the sea. Here the cold, dark rocks leeched even the memories of warmer, gentler places from his mind.

It was time to leave. He could not face another winter with the Epidaii, an endless string of frozen days and tasteless fish and the constant dissembling. It wore on his soul, for they were more similar to him than the Romans. He should like to call Liathan his brother and treat openly and honestly with him. But another had claim to his honor and his life.

His eyes sought out the shadowed figure by the door—Marcus, waiting to be called on to fetch more wood.

When they had first arrived here, Marcus had always been alert, watching for signs of the Eagle, watching for a sign from Esca to show that he had not been betrayed. But for weeks now, he had been quiet and dull, going about his duties without complaint. It worried Esca, this meek acquiescence. But he could only suppose that Marcus had come to the same conclusion he had: The Eagle was not here. Who knew what had become of it—tossed into the dark sea, perhaps, or buried under soft mold and leaves next to the bleached bones of the ones who had carried it.

Their quest had been fruitless, and they had no reason to prolong their stay here. Although who knew what Marcus would do to him once they were alone. Esca had tried to tell him that it was a sham, that he did not really consider Marcus his slave. But in order to keep up the pretence, he had needed to treat Marcus very harshly. And as the days lengthened into weeks, he had seen the doubt grow once again in Marcus’s eyes, the suspicion that Esca had no intention of ever leaving the North and cared little whether Marcus remained a slave, toiling under the unforgiving gazes of the Epidaii, or perished in the long marches that lay between them and the Wall should he attempt to escape. Now even that suspicion seemed muted—as though it had changed from doubt into certainty.

Esca would try to convince Marcus that his loyalty had never wavered, but Marcus might never trust him again. The knowledge lodged like a bitter spear in his heart. But nothing could be done here to mend the rift between them with the Epidaii watching their every move. So Esca made ready to depart, and thanked Liathan for the gift of his hospitality, and ordered Marcus to prepare the horses. And Marcus did so with no comment or question as to Esca’s motives and no whisper about his lips concerning the Eagle.

It filled Esca with foreboding, and he rode away from the village with a heavy heart.

*

“We shall stop here for the night,” Esca announced, pulling Minna to a halt in a sheltered grove with many downed branches lying about that would be good for burning.

“Yes, _domine_ ,” Marcus said, dismounting and stumbling a little on his bad leg.

Esca stared at him. All day it had been like this. Marcus did not speak unless spoken to directly, and his manner was all servile deference. It set Esca’s teeth on edge. By Lugh, what game was Marcus playing at? Did he want to force an apology out of Esca? He could have it, if so. Esca would lay matters before him, and let Marcus judge for himself the truth of his words.

“Marcus, stop this,” he said, going over to him and laying a hand on his arm.

Marcus, who had been removing Vipsania’s saddle, let his hands fall and ducked his head. “I have displeased you?”

“Marcus, you must stop acting my slave!” Esca exclaimed angrily. “We are far from the Epidaii now and there is no reason for you to continue. What do you want from me? Do you wish me to swear to you again? I shall do so, and gladly.” He started to kneel, but Marcus gripped his sleeve, and Esca halted, alarmed by the panic that flared in Marcus’s eyes.

“You would send me from you?” Marcus swallowed, clearly trying to master a fear that had set his heart beating quickly. “But _domine_ , I have nowhere to go. I—I do not know this place and my tongue stumbles over the words that the people speak.”

“Of course I do not wish to send you from me!” Esca pinned Marcus’s arms, trying to meet his eyes. “I only want you to cease this playacting. By the gods, Marcus, I am _your_ slave!”

Marcus gave Esca a puzzled look. “My master is joking, yes?” He tried to pull away. “I shall see to the fire.”

“No.” Esca took Marcus’s chin in a firm grip. “You will look at me and tell me the truth. Why do you keep behaving in this manner?”

Marcus met his eyes at last. “I am your property, your slave. Serving you—it is all I know.”

There was no lie in his eyes, no playfulness, not even any hatred. Only confusion and anxiety. Esca felt a terrible, burning fear take him.

“Marcus,” he said carefully, “what do you remember from before? From before we came to the Epidaii?”

Marcus dropped his eyes, tensing in Esca’s grip. “I—I know I am not like you. They told me that, when I asked. The Epidaii. They said that I had no honor, that I was only fit to be a slave. They said they would gladly see me dead.” His fingers tugged at the hem of his tunic, over and over, pulling the threads tight. “You were gone, out hunting. And I—there was pain, and I—I couldn’t _remember_ anything. Not even my name. And then you returned, and you named me, and I knew your voice. And you bid me to bring you food, and I have tried to serve you well, _domine_ , I have tried.”

Esca let his arms drop. “You have done well,” he managed, barely able to speak. “Go tend to the fire, now.”

Marcus hurried away, as fast as his lame leg permitted, and Esca watched from within a numb horror. He recalled that day, now. He had returned from a long hunt and been told that in his absence, Marcus had fallen, slipping on some rocks by the shore and hitting his head. The woman who had tended him had told Esca that he had been delirious for several hours, but now appeared better. He had found Marcus sitting by the horses and given him a cursory glance, for he was supposed to go share stories of the successful hunt with the tribe’s warriors and was already late. Marcus had appeared fine beyond an abrasion on his forehead. Esca had indeed ordered him to fetch meat and bread, and Marcus had obeyed, and he had paid the incident no more mind. But looking back, he could now see that the change in Marcus’s behavior had started at that moment.

The fall had done something to him; it had taken his memories. What terror Marcus must have felt, awakening in a strange place with no knowledge of who he was or why he was there. And the Epidaii, who always treated him with scorn and ill-concealed bitterness—they must have quickly instilled a sense of fear in him. And then Esca had appeared, and some small vestige of Marcus’s memory had returned, latching on to him as the only familiar thing providing some measure of comfort and security. And now he thought that if he did not obey, if he did not serve Esca well, he would be abandoned and left to his death.

Esca crept towards the fire, still reeling from this sudden revelation, and sank down onto the soft moss. Marcus had left some food for him and then gone to take care of the horses. Esca called him over.

“Sit down here, by me,” he said.

Marcus did so, looking worried again.

“Does the name ‘Calleva’ mean anything to you?” Esca asked, and Marcus shook his head after a moment. “What about ‘Clusium’ or ‘the Hispana’?” he persisted.

Marcus shifted, frowning. “I—perhaps they are familiar. Why?”

“Do you remember anything from your past, Marcus, anything at all?”

“Vague, scattered things. It hurts to try. I wanted to ask,” he admitted, “but you—you hit me and were going to let the Chieftain’s son kill me when I offended you.” He scrabbled for Esca’s arm again, fingers trembling. “I can still do my duties. I will not bother you, _domine_ , I swear.”

The guilt twisted deeper into Esca’s heart. He had hit Marcus, it was true. Liathan had caught him staring at his sister, the day after they returned from the hunting trip, and Esca had ordered Marcus to his knees, hitting him when he wasn’t fast enough to obey. And then he had wrenched his head back, telling Liathan that he could take his life, if it pleased him. Of course Marcus was terrified of him, after that.

“You were a Centurion once,” he said, voice straining in his throat. “And then your leg was hurt in battle, and you went to stay with your Uncle Aquila in Calleva, and you _saved_ me in the arena, and we were looking for the Eagle—for that _cursed_ Eagle—” he pulled himself up short for Marcus was bewildered by the flood of words and still frightened and unsure.

Esca took a deep breath. This was not the way to go about restoring Marcus’s memory. “We’ll talk about it later,” he told Marcus. “You rest—I will finish seeing to the horses.”

But Marcus would not be easy with that, clearly suspecting some trick on Esca’s part at his expense, mindful of the many times Esca had laughed at him and sneered at him while in the company of the Epidaii. Defeated, Esca at last let him do the work himself.

What a fool he had been, what a blind fool! Marcus had been in his care—had _trusted_ him—and this was the result. He had been so consumed with worrying about his own honor, and—ah, the truth was like a brand, but he must admit it—he had, in some ways, been enjoying his life with the Epidaii. To be among people like to his own again, to speak a familiar tongue, to freely wander the hills and hunt the hollows, even to curse Marcus and Romans in general, for he could always say later that he had been playing a part—it had soothed a deep hurt in his soul, a wound that had festered since the day he was made a slave.

And in so doing, he had allowed the one person who had shown him honor and trust and care to be deeply hurt—hurt beyond healing perhaps.

Marcus looked thin and worn, and his limp had grown worse, lame leg trailing behind him as he tried to move as quickly as he was able. And his spirit—that sweet, courageous spirit that Esca so admired—had been quelled. It had been drowned under pain and fear and confusion. All the shards that Marcus had managed to piece together showed Esca to be a cruel master, the people around him no better, and an unknown wilderness that barred any thought of escape surrounding him.

Esca felt as though he had murdered something precious.

*

His first thought was that he must take Marcus back to Calleva as swiftly as possible. Surrounded by familiar sights and people, Marcus’s memory might return. But if he did bring Marcus to Calleva there was every chance that he would be taken from him. He might well be blamed for Marcus’s condition. Marcus’s uncle might decide to sell him or sentence him to death at the worst. And Marcus would be left alone.

 _You’re a coward_ , Esca told himself. _You think of yourself and not your friend._ His eyes sought out Marcus, who was still rubbing down Minna, his shoulders bowed. _What makes you think he would care if you were to be parted? And should you not do the best for him and never mind the consequences to yourself? You are the one who brought this upon him._

But he could not find the will to do it. To never ride by Marcus’s side again, to never feel Marcus’s hand upon his shoulder—he could not bear it.

 _So I am weak. May the gods forgive me for it, but I cannot surrender him to another’s care._ Shamed, Esca bowed his head. _Until the new moon rises once more. I will give myself that long. And if he is not better by then, I will take him back to his uncle._

Decision made, he turned to the fire, adding another piece of wood. “Marcus,” he called. “Come here.”

“Yes, _domine_?” Marcus asked, limping over.

“Sit down here and take this blanket.”

Marcus did as he said, albeit slowly and warily.

“You need to rest that leg of yours,” Esca told him. “Or you will be of no use.”

“I’m sorry—”

“No.” Esca sighed and rummaged in his pack, drawing out a piece of dried meat. “Eat this and don’t be sorry, Marcus. Don’t be sorry.”

Marcus ate it quickly, as though he expected Esca to change his mind.

“Now draw nearer the fire and take some sleep. You have done enough work, and the rest can wait until morning.”

Marcus moved a few inches closer and laid down, watching Esca intently all the while, puzzled by his behavior, used to being shouted at and given scraps to eat and the place farthest from the fire.

Esca busied himself with whittling at a piece of wood, managing to refrain from going to Marcus and taking him in his arms and soothing him as he wished. Best to move slowly and get Marcus to trust him before trying anything else.

It did not take long for Marcus to fall asleep. Esca glanced at him, letting himself pretend for a moment that all was well and that Marcus would shake him awake the next morning, calling his name warmly. Through the trees, the sliver of a waxing moon glinted down on him.

*

The shreds of a dream dissolved into the sharp smell of the morning, and Esca became aware that a growing heat of arousal was spreading through his body. A warm, wet heat enveloped his cock, and a delightful pressure made it thicken steadily. Was he dreaming yet or what—? Raising his head, he beheld Marcus lying between his spread thighs, one hand lightly grasping Esca’s cock while he mouthed at it, sucking and licking.

Esca squawked and scrambled backwards, pushing Marcus away. “What are you doing?” he demanded, breathless.

“You were kind to me last night,” Marcus mumbled, lips still wet with spit. “Do you not wish me to show my gratitude in such a way? The Epidaii—they often told me…,” he blushed and finished in a rush, “that I had a whore’s mouth and should use it to pleasure my master when he was good to me.”

“No, Marcus, no, I do not wish it!” Esca said, more harshly than he intended for in truth he had entertained idle notions of Marcus doing just that, but always when they lay entwined together, the secrets of their hearts voiced and found to be in harmony. Not like this.

Marcus clenched his jaw and stiffly got to his feet. “I shall prepare you some food, _domine_ ,” he muttered.

Esca walked a short way into the woods, trying to collect himself, still half-aroused yet filled with shame and sorrow. _Please, please let me find him again,_ he prayed. _Bring him back to me._ He could not stand this much longer—Marcus’s servile demeanor and the fear in his eyes when he looked at Esca.

Summoning a measure of calm, he went back to Marcus. He took the bread and dried fish Marcus handed him and split it in half, giving some back to him. “Sit with me and eat,” he said, gently taking Marcus’s arm and pulling him down.

“But—” Marcus began to protest, shifting uneasily, but Esca overrode him.

“Sit with me, my friend. I want to tell you a story.”

Marcus sat, gulping his food, wary eyes fixed on Esca.

“It begins with a Centurion, only lately arrived in Britain,” Esca started. “He commanded the fort at Isca Dumnoniorum. Although it was only his first command, he strove with all his heart to fulfill his duties to his Emperor and win the respect of his men. In doing so, he hoped to regain his family’s honor.”

He kept speaking, watching Marcus all the while, yearning to see some spark of recognition. When he reached the moment of their meeting, his voice faltered. “The slave pledged his life to the Centurion who had saved him,” he said at last. “He pledged to serve him. And the Centurion accepted his word. He saw the honor in the slave’s words and heart where no other thought to find such a thing.”

“You speak of us,” Marcus said quietly. “I am the Centurion, and you the slave.”

“Yes.” Esca searched Marcus’s face. “Do you not remember?”

Marcus slowly shook his head. “It sounds a fanciful fireside tale to me. Do you swear it is the truth?”

“I swear it on my life and honor,” Esca whispered.

“And how—how did we come to this?” Marcus asked hesitantly.

Esca continued the tale, bringing them to the moment when he had realized Marcus had lost his memories. “Had I known, Marcus, I would never have made you stay there. I would never have treated you so harshly.” He clasped Marcus’s hand. “You must believe me. You must!”

“It explains much,” Marcus said, fingers touching the brand of Mithras on his forehead, then his lame leg. “But I do not know you, E-Esca.” His tongue tripped over Esca’s name. “I do not know you as a friend. Only as my master, whom I must obey.”

Esca bowed his head for a moment, heart aching. “Then we shall begin again,” he said at last. “Will you stay with me awhile? Not as my slave, but as my companion? Perhaps together, we can bring your memories back.”

“I have no one else,” Marcus replied. “I should be lost in a strange land were it not for you. And my life should be swiftly forfeit, either to the people here, who have no care for Romans, or to this leg of mine.”

“If you wish it, I shall take you back to your uncle.” Esca forced himself to say the words.

“I do not remember him, either.” Marcus put a tentative hand on Esca’s arm. “You are the only person I know. And you—you appear to care for me, if my ears and eyes do not deceive me.”

“They do not, Marcus.”

“Then I should like to stay with you, I think.”

Esca smiled his relief, and Marcus granted him a small smile in return.

*

As they rode that day, Esca often spoke to Marcus, keeping his voice steady and gentle. He could tell Marcus was still confused by this turn in his behavior, by the upsetting of the world to which he had grown accustomed. Sometimes Esca spoke of past times, but often he commented on the way they traveled, and the lay of the land, and the hunting prospects.

“We shall see if you remember how to hold a spear,” he told Marcus lightly. “Or if I shall best you once again.”

“I think here your tongue does not tell the truth,” Marcus replied, with a flash of his old spirit. “For I doubt that your throwing arm could ever outdo mine.” And then his voice faded, and he twisted the reins in his hand nervously. “I—I did not mean to offend.”

“You did not,” Esca reassured him. “We often spoke in just such a way, as brothers of the sword and not as slave and master.”

“It seems strange to me, that it should have been so between us.”

“And yet it was—still a growing thing, a bond that was like to a green sapling, just pushing out of the earth. I often fought against it,” Esca confessed. “Your Roman ways and words, they grated against me, and all I could think of was the ruin of my people, brought to heel under your swords. But now—”

“Now?” Marcus prompted.

“Now I miss it dearly,” Esca said, and they rode on in silence.

*

They could not continue wandering among the lochs and steep hills indefinitely. Marcus needed warmth and shelter and rest if he were to improve. And so, when they came to a mid-size village, Esca spoke to the chieftain, naming himself the son of Cunoval of the Brigantes and asking for a place to stay. He promised they would do work for the village and bring the fruits of their hunting to him.

“And your companion?” the chieftain asked. “Of what manner is he?”

“A trapper who ventured north of the Wall,” Esca replied. “He met with an accident that damaged his head—he has few memories of his past. But I vouch for his honor.”

The chieftain’s sister, a fair-haired woman named Avitoria, took them into her home. Her husband, a large bear of a man who spoke infrequently, showed them a bed in a corner and said they should consider his spears their own. A small boy and girl clung to Avitoria’s skirts and watched with wide eyes.

Marcus crouched down, holding out a handful of white shells in his palm. “A gift,” he told the children in some of the few words he knew in their language. They shyly came forward. The little girl smiled at him, fingers tight on the smooth shell, and Marcus ruffled the boy’s hair.

When Marcus went to tend to the horses, Esca stopped him. “No, you need to rest,” he told him, guiding him to the fire.

“ _Domine_ ,” Marcus began, but then caught himself. “Yes, Esca. My leg—” He stopped, still unwilling to admit how much it pained him.

“I know.” Esca handed him a blanket to wrap around his shoulders. “Tonight I shall soothe the muscles in your leg as I used to back in Calleva. You shall grow stronger soon.”

But when Marcus lay on their bed that evening, he grew tense when Esca put his hands on his thigh.

“I am sorry,” Marcus said, catching sight of Esca’s grimace. “I expect you to discipline me.”

Esca let his hands fall away. “You have known only pain at my hands, haven’t you?” He sighed. “I used to take care of you. When your wound had been reopened, and you wandered in a fever—I was at your side always.”

“Because you were my slave.”

“Yes, but—” Esca paused, trying to think of a way to explain the resentment, hatred, and grudging respect that had swirled in his breast. “I owed you my life, and I saw your courage and admired it. We both have warriors’ hearts, you and I.”

Marcus stared up at the dark timbers of the roof. “No longer, for my part.”

“You are wrong.” Esca put his hand on his shoulder. “Your courage is still there, Marcus.”

After a moment, Marcus put his hand atop Esca’s. “Try again, with my leg,” he said.

*

Avitoria must have felt as Esca did for she gave Marcus the largest portions at the supper fire and plied him with breads and honeyed treats the rest of the day. Marcus’s color began to improve, and he lost the starved, cowed look he had worn among the Epidaii.

One rainy afternoon, as they sat round the fire, Esca putting a new shaft on a spear and Marcus dozing, the leather scabbard he was supposed to be mending slipping from his hands, Avitoria roused him with a plate of honey breads. Marcus accepted them with a smile.

“She spoils me, just like Sassticca,” he commented to Esca.

Esca froze. “You remember her?” he asked, voice trembling.

Marcus frowned, blinking. “I—I cannot recall a face or a voice. I only know that she used to lavish the same unrelenting attention and kindness on me when I was ill. Who is she, Esca?”

Disappointment stooped his shoulders. “A slave in your uncle’s household.”

“Tell me about her,” Marcus urged. “Perhaps if I hear more, I shall remember her face.”

So Esca told him all that he could, but it did not help. Marcus could remember nothing beyond the association between Avitoria’s thoughtfulness and a shadowed figure glimpsed in the dark interiors of his mind.

Over the next few days, Esca kept hoping that small things might return to Marcus in a similar manner. When a rumble of chariots dashed past the village, Esca thought it might remind him of the battle where he had been wounded. But Marcus only raised his head briefly before going back to his work. When they joined in a feast at the chieftain’s great lodge and saw a burnished legionary’s helmet on the wall, token of a past victory, Esca looked swiftly to Marcus. But his eyes only slid over it, as though it meant nothing.

“Tell me about my family,” Marcus would plead when they were trapped indoors by rain, and Esca would relate what he knew, again and again. Little enough about Marcus’s mother, for he knew only the few things he had overheard Marcus and his uncle discussing. He could tell more about Marcus’s father, of course, and the Eagle.

“Of all my life, it seems this should have been burned into my soul, beyond any chance of forgetting,” Marcus said one day when Esca had told the tale yet again. He was stretched on the bed, leg covered in a blanket. “But it is only a story that happened to some man whom I do not know.”

“There is nothing, then?” Esca asked.

“I can see a woman’s hands covered in flour. And dark flagstones, half caught in sun, half in shadow. And sometimes I fancy I catch the hint of a smell—of the horses, perhaps, and the sweet fragrance of hay—and it tugs at something within me.” Marcus sighed. “But that is nothing—a crumbled foundation upon which to build.”

The only thing that brought Esca some measure of comfort in these days was that Marcus seemed easier in his presence. He no longer hesitated over Esca’s name or tensed when Esca touched him.

A night soon after, when the moon had risen—a fat, round globe with a little slice still missing—and was already listing towards the western horizon, Esca woke from his sleep with a start. Marcus had cried out, and his limbs moved uneasily as he slept.

“Marcus,” Esca murmured, shaking him. “Wake, my friend.”

Marcus shivered awake and stared up at him. “Esca?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly, Marcus surged upwards, pushing him down on the bed. His hands searched frantically at Esca’s chest. “Where is the wound? Where are you hurt? I could not stop him—forgive me—”

“ _Marcus_.” Esca caught his hands in a steadying grip. “I am not hurt. It was only a dream.”

“Truly? It felt so real. There was a man in a mask, and he carried a three-pointed spear. He had ensnared you in a net.” Marcus gulped a breath. “I was trying to get to you, but my leg—I could not move. I screamed for him to stop, but he—he drove his weapon into—”

“Shhhh,” Esca soothed, taking Marcus’s hand and putting it on his bare chest, underneath his tunic. “See? I am unharmed. You were dreaming of the past. For that is how it was in the arena at Calleva. The gladiator had brought me down and raised his spear to kill me. But you turned the crowd. You saved my life.”

Marcus smoothed his hand over Esca’s skin, over and over. “I remember nothing more. And already it fades, as dreams are wont to do. I only know—” His voice caught, and his hand grew gentler. “I only know I could not bear it Esca, to see you so.”

Esca petted his hand through Marcus’s hair and then rested it against his back, holding him. Marcus’s touch warmed him, although as they remained, lying silently yet still awake, the sensations stiffened his nipples and stirred an arousal in his groin. He could not let on to Marcus, of course, not after that horrible morning after leaving the Epidaii. Marcus could not want that with him, now.

At last, Marcus fell back asleep, head nestled in the crook of Esca’s shoulder.

*

A week later, Esca borrowed two swords from a neighbor of Avitoria’s and brought them to Marcus. “Your leg is healed enough to handle some swordplay, I think,” he said.

Marcus took the sword Esca handed him and curled his fingers around the hilt. “You think it will help me remember.”

“Perhaps.” In truth, he was beginning to despair of Marcus’s ever regaining his memories. Soon there would be nothing for it but to return to Calleva. To his slavery. To sleeping on a cold floor on the other side of the room from Marcus if he was not banished entirely. “In any case, it is good to keep in practice.”

Marcus nodded and followed Esca out into the yard. He assumed his position awkwardly and at first had trouble blocking Esca’s blows, his feet and hands clumsy. But as the rhythm of the fight took him, that awkwardness disappeared. His sword arm moved instinctively. Even with his bad leg, he managed a speed that took Esca by surprise and had him up against the wall, Marcus’s sword a fingerbreadth away from his throat.

“It comes back to you,” Esca said when Marcus stepped back, breathing hard and staring at the sword. “You practiced with your auxiliaries like this, mayhap.”

“It does not come back to me.” Marcus sounded shaken. “My body moves without my will. I know when to parry and when to thrust but all without conscious thought.” His hand squeezed hard at the hilt, knuckles whitening. “It is like that with everything! I know how to fletch an arrow or dress a deer. I know how to saddle Vipsania, and I think that were I able to mount the warriors’ chariots, I would know how to drive them.” He looked at Esca with panicked eyes. “But I cannot remember ever doing these things before. It is like I live in the body of a stranger!”

“Marcus.” Esca grabbed his shoulders, steadying him. “Be still, my friend.” When Marcus had calmed a little, he went on, “It is no wonder you are unsettled. And now that you are stronger, we shall return to Calleva. It will help to be in a familiar place, I am sure of it.” He said that last quickly, not letting himself think of anything beyond Marcus. It was not yet the dark of the moon, but there was no point in waiting longer, he could see that now.

“But what if it does not help?” Marcus said, the words unwilling and fearful.

“Then you must make new memories.” Esca squeezed his shoulders once and then let go. “Perhaps it is a blessing, to be free of the past. Lugh knows, there are many things I should like to forget.”

“You do not mean that,” Marcus protested.

Esca thought of his mother’s body, sprawled in the dirt, and the flames flicking through the roof of their home. And then of his father holding him on his shoulders to see a chariot race, both of them laughing. Of Marcus, fumbling for his hand in the dark of a morning when his leg had pained him and sighing out a quiet thanks when Esca had given him some wine.

“You are right,” he admitted. “I do not.”

“But you do not wish to go to Calleva,” Marcus said, regarding him with that damnable perception that had unsettled Esca so often. He gestured at the village. “You wish to stay here.”

“I wish to go with you,” Esca replied. “And that is the truth. It is only—” He stopped, not wanting to reveal how weak he was to Marcus.

“Tell me,” Marcus persisted.

“I do not feel like a slave here, that is all,” Esca said at last. “I put my own comfort ahead of your wellbeing. It shames me,” he admitted.

“I see no shame in it,” Marcus said after a moment. “When I learned that I was not a slave, as I had thought, my heart lightened.” He fell silent then, and they went to return the swords.

*

They announced their intention to leave that evening.

“I have nothing to give you for all your kindnesses,” Marcus stammered to Avitoria.

“You have no debt here,” Avitoria replied, patting his cheek fondly. “Seeing you well again is gift enough.” She turned sharp eyes on Esca. “Take care of your friend on the journey south and do not let him tax his leg overmuch.”

Esca promised he would tend to Marcus—indeed, he had already informed Marcus that if he dared to see to the horses in the evenings, he would knock him round the head with a piece of wood. “After a day of traveling you must rest your leg or it will grow poorly once more,” he had insisted over his protests.

“I am useless, aren’t I?” Marcus had said, half ruefully, half bitterly. “When I believed myself your slave, I could not understand why you kept me. Each day I feared you would cast me out if I did not do the work.”

“That time is passed,” Esca had replied. “Think no more on it, for you know I do not consider you useless.” He wanted to add that he would always be by Marcus’s side, but who knew what fate had in store for them in Calleva?

In the morning, they prepared to depart. Esca saddled the horses but when he went to collect Marcus, he was not to be found.

“He said he had some business to attend to before you left,” Avitoria told him.

Esca waited, puzzled and a little worried, but it was not too long before Marcus returned. When Esca questioned him about what he had been doing, though, he refused to answer. “I shall tell you when we stop for the night,” Marcus said. “But do not concern yourself—it is not an ill thing, but a good one.”

He had to content himself with that, for the moment. He mounted Minna, but Marcus paused, one hand on Vipsania’s saddle. “Do you think we should keep looking for it?” he asked softly, turning to stare out at the northern hills.

Esca did not need to ask what he meant. “You said you did not remember the Eagle…or your father.”

“But it was important to him—to that other Marcus. The man I used to be. So important.” Marcus sighed. “He would have sacrificed his life to find it.”

“And would you?”

Marcus’s hand drifted unconsciously towards his side, where his sword used to rest. “I want to find a life before I lose it.” He glanced at Esca. “Does that make me a coward?”

Esca pondered and at last shook his head. “I think that is what your father would have wanted for you as well. Without a purpose and will, honor is an empty word. Your purpose lies elsewhere now.”

Marcus hesitated a moment longer, and then nodded sharply and climbed into the saddle.

That evening, after making camp, Esca demanded, “Now tell me what occupied you this morning.” He had often thought on it during the daylight hours as they rode.

Marcus laughed. “You are like a fox that scents a hare,” he said and reached into his pack. He drew out a sheet of parchment. “This is what I was doing—and it should have been done long before by all you have told me. I wish I remembered my reasons for holding back.”

Frowning, Esca took the scroll and unrolled it. He tried to puzzle out the Latin letters. “I think this is my name, here, but the rest…”

“It is your freedom,” Marcus said. “I will need to have it witnessed when we reach a Roman town, but that is a mere formality. The intent goes into effect at once. You are no longer my slave.”

Tears started to Esca’s eyes, and he had to turn away for a moment, blinking against the firelight.

“I have nothing to accompany it,” Marcus continued. “From what you have told me, I gather that I have no land and hardly any money to my name. But what little I possess I shall gladly share with you.”

At last, Esca managed to speak. “It is a great gift. After all that I have done to you—”

“You protected me!” Marcus broke in. “You saved my life. I know how easy it would have been for you to leave me, so far north of the Wall. But you stayed. You stayed,” he repeated, eyes intent on Esca’s.

He could say that his honor had prevented it, but it would be a lie. Honor or no honor, he would have remained. He opened his mouth to say so, but then his gaze met Marcus’s, and the words flitted from his mind.

“I think you have not been truthful with me,” Marcus said softly.

“What do you mean?” he asked, mindful that Marcus had shifted a little closer.

“What lay between us, Esca?” He moved closer yet, and his knee touched Esca’s.

Esca swallowed, mouth dry. “I have told you everything.”

“That cannot be. For the desire is so strong in me to do this,” and here he laid his palm to Esca’s cheek, “that I cannot believe it was not satisfied before.” He rubbed his thumb over Esca’s mouth.

“If it was there,” Esca whispered, “you never acted upon it.”

Marcus’s hand fell away, and he flushed. “I misjudged then. I am sorry.”

“No.” Esca caught his hand again. “The same desire awakened within me, Marcus. But how could I voice it, when you knew not who you were?”

“I still do not.” Marcus touched Esca’s face again, his fingers gentle. “I know only that you are dear to me.”

Marcus’s arms went strong around him, and he buried his face against Marcus’s neck, breathing his scent. He kissed his skin, and Marcus shuddered and then pulled back.

“What is it?” Esca asked him, seeing the worry in Marcus’s eyes.

“I am sure that in the past, I did this with others,” Marcus explained haltingly. “But now…”

“I will show you the way,” Esca promised. “Come, let us lie in our blankets near the fire.”

He carefully placed the paper granting his freedom in his pack and then stripped down to his tunic, hastily climbing under his blankets and holding them up for Marcus to join him.

“I begin to wish I had voiced these thoughts last night when we were still lodged in some comfort,” Marcus said, breathless from the chill air.

Esca chuckled. “But then we would have had to keep quiet. Besides, soon you will not mind the cold.”

Marcus was almost shy, hesitant to touch and be touched at first. But Esca stroked along his ribs and set Marcus laughing. Relaxing, he let his thighs fall open, and Esca pushed up his tunic to reveal his hard cock. His own throbbed insistently, and he straddled Marcus’s legs, letting their cocks rub together before taking them in hand.

Mouth open, breath panting, Marcus watched him, the muscles clenching in his stomach. But then he pushed upwards, taking Esca by the shoulders. “Please—Esca, I need to—want you under me,” he mumbled, grappling him around.

Lust flared in Esca’s belly, and he gasped out an acquiescence, going to his knees. Marcus covered him, breath hot against his neck. Esca’s tunic, rucked up between them, had grown damp from his sweat.

Marcus slipped a hand under it and smoothed a sweep up Esca’s back. “There. Press your thighs together now.” He licked at Esca’s earlobe.

Feeling Marcus’s weight on him, hearing his voice hoarse with need—it made him shaky as a new colt. But he did as Marcus asked. Marcus nestled his cock against his balls a moment before he began thrusting, cock sliding between Esca’s thighs. Marcus grunted from the effort, and Esca collapsed onto his elbows, reaching under his stomach to grasp his cock and fondle the head.

When Marcus’s seed spread wetly on his skin, he spent his own in a breathless groan.

He shivered afterwards, growing cold in the night air, so Marcus held him, tugging the blankets over their heads. It smelled of sweat and wool and wood-smoke, but Esca did not mind, content to rub his face against Marcus’s chest a few times and then settle. Under the windswept field of stars above them, he said a silent thanksgiving to the gods for fanning the flame of his dear one’s spirit back to life and renewing the ties that bound it to his own.

*

Did Marcus’s memories ever return? Only a few, like a handful of leaves picked up from the paving stones.

When they reached Calleva, his uncle welcomed them back, paling when Marcus explained what had happened.

“We knew one another for such a short time that this is only a minor setback,” he declared after a moment, grasping Marcus’s arm. “We shall begin again. And I will be able to use all my old tricks on you once more in draughts.”

Later, he asked after the Eagle.

“Esca says there was no sign of it,” Marcus replied. He touched the military armila that he had fastened once more onto his wrist—almost like a token of remembrance for the man he had been. “And I cannot summon a great passion about it, now. I do not remember my father or my mother. I do not remember the taunts and curses that must have plagued me.”

“Then let it lie in the mists,” his uncle said. “And the years will bring forgetfulness to all.”

Esca’s status as a freeman was made official, and Marcus, in one of the noble gestures that were an indelible part of him, told Esca he was at liberty to go and seek his fortunes elsewhere if he desired. Esca took Marcus to their bed and let him know exactly how ridiculous a suggestion it was.

“I do not know what I shall do, though, Esca,” Marcus confessed as they lay curled together afterwards. “I have no prospects, no money, and few skills.”

“What nonsense you talk,” Esca chided. “You are capable with your hands and your wits. And your cock,” he added after a pause.

Marcus thumped his shoulder, laughing. “I do not think you would like it if I earned my way with _that_.”

Esca felt jealous at the very thought and had to set his teeth lightly in Marcus’s skin, leaving a mark to soothe with his tongue and nuzzle.

“But truly, I do not know what to do,” Marcus continued, growing more relaxed under Esca’s attentions.

“Horse breeding, perhaps,” Esca offered.

“Horses?” Marcus grimaced, stretching his leg. “I have had enough of horses. How many weeks did we spend in the saddle? Too many to count.”

“I have seen the way you coddle Vipsania and Minna,” Esca reminded him. “Your words do not fool me.”

“You are too perceptive by half,” Marcus complained around a laugh. “Perhaps it shall be horses, then. And a farm.”

It was Esca’s turn to grimace. “I am no farmer!”

“But I think I should like the feel of the land under my hands. To see it waken each spring,” Marcus said thoughtfully.

“A farm and horses.” Esca nodded after a moment, relenting.

Marcus smiled and found his hand. He rubbed his thumb over Esca’s knuckles. “My first good memory is of you, bending over and touching my forehead and calling my name,” he said quietly. “And I hope my last one—whenever it comes—is of you as well.”

Esca’s throat tightened. “You speak the thought of my heart,” he whispered and drew Marcus close.

 

~Fin~


End file.
